


this time of night

by kiili



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiili/pseuds/kiili
Summary: It has been 30 years since Sabrina danced to seal her fate. Will Sabrina Spellman truly be the Monarch of Hell?





	1. S p e l l m a n

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello I don't know what I'm really doing and I really hope this isn't incest but this idea came to me and I had to write it. Maybe I'll keep writing??

Sabrina Spellman was a liar.

And like all liars, she felt positively cheerful when her lies were eaten up as hard truths.

It had been thirty years since she had danced the Mephisto Waltz. Thirty years since the crown of the damned was placed upon her white shock of hair. Thirty years since he forced her into his life. Thirty damn years since the utter destruction of the world she knew. The world she _loved_.

Thirty years of thinking about strategies, possibilities. Of hiding in dark corners, Salem, oh darling, loyal _Salem_ keeping watch for intruders. For _Him_.

The utter damnation of Hell on earth had not been a pleasant experience, but it hadn’t been the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She had thought, no _presumed_ , that Hell had housed the worst possible creatures known to witchkind. Demons and brutes and all the thoughts swimming in her head hadn’t prepared herself for what was to actually come out of the gates of Hell.

Witches, warlocks, her family that had burned at the stake hundreds of years ago and forced into damnation, much like her “betrothed”, were free to walk the earth once more. The False God be damned. She couldn’t have been so stupid as to believe that there were just demons living with Lucifer Morning Star down in that pit. Even if he did used to be some weird goat thing. She still couldn’t picture that flawless face as that thing. She hadn’t asked him about that yet.

 _'There’s loads of time for that',_ she reasoned with herself early on in the “partnership”. Taking it slow is what she was good at, right?

Besides, she supposed, whatever demons could possibly have lurked at the ends of the earth couldn’t hide the fact that the False God had demons of his own. Not everyone is pure.

 _'Except me',_ she thought snidely. No, that wasn’t even true. That was the one truth that she could actually admit to herself. 

Sabrina was Queen of the Damned. Like that Anne Rice novel, except arguably more beautiful than Lestat. And oh was Sabrina _beautiful._ She had grown older, but her age was almost undeterminable. Power flowed through her veins, an ever-growing stream of static electricity around her. Her hair, as short and as blonde as it always was, her body wrapped in flowing black lace dresses. Not much had changed in that aspect. 

Standing next to her betrothed, she did not look like a child with a too-big crown anymore. She looked powerful because she knew she was.

She could not challenge him yet. She knew that, and he made it painfully obvious whenever she threatened.

But Sabrina was not a subservient monarch. 

She made sure he was kept in his place, just as much he did her.

She would never fully submit to him. She would always fight. She was a Spellman, it was what they _did_.

But she was not the same Sabrina Spellman that danced with her new King that night. She had grown up. She was a woman, beautiful, ageless, but also cunning, calculative. He had ripped her unceremoniously from her life and what she loved most, but he had given her patience, power. She wasn’t sure if it was a fair price for the sacrifice she had to make, but arguably it had made her a more powerful witch.

 _'And I don’t regret that,'_  She thought. She was almost proud to be a monarch. Almost. It was what she needed to make her plans work. As for what those plans were, she didn’t exactly know. _Yet._

It’s not that she didn’t enjoy what her life was now. Father Blackwood had been forced to live with mortals. The coven, what was left of it, had been restored as her one request from her new King. We didn’t live in hiding anymore. The grand palaces and the life we deserved was ours. The Aunties were happy, Lilith was, I guess happy? She wasn't completely sure. 

Harvey, Ros, Theo? She didn’t try to think about them. They were as far removed from her as they could possibly be. They needed to live their life without her, and after many years deliberating about what was best, she knew now with maturity that she had made the right choice. She was only just beginning her life as a monarch, while soon the flames of her three best friends, now burning brightly, would extinguish. Such is the mortal life. The False God was wrong in the way he built his world. She could see that now, but she hadn’t always seen so.

She padded down the steps of her large house she shared with her Aunties, her cousin, Ambrose, some varying members of the coven should they choose for sanctuary here, they were welcome. The door was always open, but people were busy.

They never stayed long, and when they did, they were far too preoccupied to hang around for very long. It was the new world, there was things to learn and see. Sabrina appreciated seeing her friends when they were here, Nick and Prudence especially.

For a long time, Prudence didn’t come to the new lodgings, even when she was explicitly invited by Sabrina. Zelda had tried to get her to come around, and top tell her that what had transpired had had nothing to do with her, but the shame she felt kept her away for many years. Sabrina was glad when she finally visited, and was glad every time she had come back since.

“Darling, breakfast is served in the dining room, should you wish it,” called a voice from downstairs.

 _'Dang it, I thought I was silent'_ , Sabrina thought defiantly. She emerged from her hiding spot behind the bannister of the extremely ornamental and all together over-the-top staircase to look into the eyes of the man, no, not man, thing? I don’t know, she would spend the rest of eternity ruling with. Ew.

“Do you honestly have to watch my every move, _Lucifer Morningstar?_ ” she taunted.

“That’s a fine way to greet your betrothed you haven’t seen in many moons, Sabrina. Tsk tsk,” replied the Dark Lord, walking closer to her until Sabrina could feel his breath on her neck.

“If you tsk tsk me one more time, I’ll not talk to you again,” she replied, huffing past him before he could lean in any further.

The Dark Lord watched Sabrina, a billow of bed robe and messy hair, continue down the stairs into the dining room, with Salem catching up to her and padding silently behind, and laughed heartily. A full belly laugh, his eyes sparkling in her wake. 

 _'Loser_ ,' she thought, not looking back, knowing he would promptly follow. 


	2. M o r n i n g s t a r

Lucifer Morningstar had lived for a very long time.

While the False God revelled in making the world in his image, Lucifer had been sent into the fiery pits of damnation to burn. To burn for crimes he didn’t commit. To burn for the utter crime of feeling something. The "heavenly Father" had wept, but he would never stoop to apologising. The False God's pride was too much for that.

To have pondered for millennia about how he became damned had wrought nothing; it was too late to plead. And Lucifer Morningstar did not plead.

While he can still ponder this for millennia more, he had remade the False God’s world in his image. His beautiful witches and warlocks lived, the way they always have destined to be, as superior. He had no doubt that at a later time the False God would reprimand him, but as he would have to come to earth to do so, he hypothesised it would be a very long time before that happened.

And besides, his kind were not doing anything to hurt the mortals. At least, not much anyway.

For as cruel as Lucifer Morningstar could be, he would never dream of submitting humans to the cruelties that they had put his children through.

Actually, he probably could think of some atrocities, but they were saved only for the awful False God devotees that continue to torment his beautiful children.

And they were beautiful. His beautiful children.

None more beautiful than Sabrina Spellman, of course. But she was to be beautiful. He had made sure of it. He couldn’t have anything less, wouldn’t have anything less.

And perhaps, with the death of her parents and her mysterious, if not slightly annoying, mortal upbringing aside, she had been molded into a perfectly fine bride. A bit resistant, at first. But she was born to rule by his side, and when she had finally accepted it, she had shone brighter than any False God star he had ever seen.

But he needn’t think of that now. Not when everything was going so well. The world was slowly being remade in His image. Not the False God’s, not Lilith’s, His. Finally.

It didn’t happen all at once. Wasn't happening all at oncer. He has patience. He spent millennia as a half goat, biding his time, waiting for this very moment. He could be patient. With his world. With his bride.

While he had a large amount of pride already, he held the fact thatv Sabrina had become a very patient witch very close to his heart. he didn't think he could stomach living with that brat forever, but he just wasn't used to dealing with children. Not that he didn't enjoy her games, when he let her play them, of course. 

He had just returned from visiting Europe, and some of his covens there. Sabrina didn't want to accompany him for whatever reason, he didn't press her. He knew she probably wouldn't have told him anyway.

While he will let her get away with murder, he can still see right through her. He has, after all, had millennia to practice his poker face. 

He entered the door of the house he shared with his bride and her family, their coven, reluctantly another agreement that he had no choice but to accept to get the young Spellman under his wing.

 _'Not the worst thing I've ever done,'_ he thought. _'Or had to do.'_

He smelled food and entered the dining room, where some of the coven were enjoying some breakfast. He acknowledged them in a nonchalant way before heading to his bedchamber. When he approached the central staircase he looked up to see a glittering pair of sleepy brown eyes scrutinise him from the top step, half hidden by the bannister. 

He looked at his bride for a minute in silence.

 _'She truly is beautiful,'_ he thought snidely. 

“Darling, breakfast is served in the dining room, should you wish it,” he said. 

“Do you honestly have to watch my every move, _Lucifer Morningstar?_ ” she taunted. His eyes glistened at the challenge and he swooped up the stairs towards her. God she was beautiful. 

“That’s a fine way to greet your betrothed you haven’t seen in many moons, Sabrina. Tsk tsk,” he said, waiting for her reaction. 

“If you tsk tsk me one more time, I’ll not talk to you again,” she replied, huffing past him before he could lean in any further. He watched her walk down the stairs. 

 _If I had even a slight weakness, it would be her,_ he thought almost dishearteningly. _I hope she doesn't catch onto it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I guess I will keep writing now when they are both together? I thought these two were just good establishing chapters to find out where we're at.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we go, further into hell I guess. This is the first proper chapter after the prologue, and I've decided to split it into two parts. Thank you for the kudos and the reviews!

“ _His dark eyes took me in, and I wondered what they would look like if he fell in love._ ”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Love of the Last Tycoon.

 

 

Being the Queen of the Damned was like playing an intricate, dragged out game of chess. Every move utterly fucking calculated. Sabrina thought that she had finally gotten the hang of reading the facial expression of her monarch, but every time she was reacquainted with him it was like playing a new game.

A game with a person who has lived forever, knows every trick in the universe, and won’t submit to losing, not even for a second. 

At first, this facet of the Dark Lord’s personality left her kicking and screaming into oblivion, slammed doors until the doorframe broke loose from the wall. He didn’t offer much in regards to an explanation, a cheat sheet into his mind, just a quick smirk and a challenge to _keep up_.

He was always on the winning side, and he knew it, _basked_ in it. Always a move ahead, regardless of the circumstances. But these days, she had become a more formidable opponent. She knew he could tell the power balance was shifting. What he felt about this information, she had no idea.  

And it was not about to become any clearer, she hadn’t seen him for the better part of the year. He goes off on these long jaunts every once in a while, nothing said except an occasional " _goodbye, see you soon!"_  

Sabrina is seldom invited, but she thinks it’s because he knows she’d decline if he asked anyway. 

He rarely will hold conversation with her, for whatever reason. _That_ hasn’t changed much in thirty years. 

 _‘I will be the first to admit that he has some power over me,'_  she thought, walking through the large doors that framed the downstairs dining room. ‘ _But not as much as he thinks he does.'_

Ambrose was already sitting at the table with another warlock she didn’t know. Although they employed cooks specifically to cater for everyone, Hilda was always busying herself in the kitchen, and it was hardly a surprise when she emerged from the kitchen, laden with several breakfast dishes, enough to feed a king.

 _‘And of course they're feeding a King, duh,'_  she thought. She doubted the house had missed their Dark Lord's arrival. He wasn't known for his subtlety. 

“Sabrina! It’s so nice to see you down here!” exclaimed Hilda, placing the dishes haphazardly around the table.

“Auntie, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that we have people to cook for us now. And they get _paid._ You don’t need to spend all your day in the kitchen.” said Sabrina before shooting daggers at Ambrose.

“And Ambrose, I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to her this morning when you’ve clearly been here for a while, can no one in this place do _anything?_ ” she huffed before sitting down at her usual end of the table, helping herself to some toast and jam regardless.

Ambrose opened his mouth to retort but fell silent as the door to the dining room opened again and the Dark Lord walked lazily in, dressed in tight leather trousers and a red velvet shirt, unlaced at the collar.

 _‘Always one for a dramatic entry, fool,'_ she thought, their earlier interaction not forgotten as his grand entrance was promptly ignored by his betrothed.

Ambrose, the warlock sitting beside him, and Hilda all stood silent for a second, ushered pleasantries to their King and stood up to leave.

“Well, cousin, it was nice to see you, but myself and James ought to be going. Warlock stuff, you know?” Ambrose flashed a quick smile and proceeded to half-drag this _James_ out of the room, Ambrose’s dress shoes clacking on the marble floor. Hilda had already disappeared back into the kitchen, and the two of them were left alone. _Again._

Sabrina let the silence fill the room as she watched the Dark Lord walk to his usual seat and sit down, still finishing the piece of toast she had in her hand. He reached over and dragged a bowl of fruit closer to him. Sabrina watched him while he surveyed the offerings in the bowl, before he reached in and selected a ripe plum. He looked up, looking her in the eye and took an over-exaggerated bite, the dark juice dripping from the side of his mouth.

If Sabrina hadn’t been anticipating this breakfast for at least a year, she might have retaliated. But that was what he _wanted_.

So, as much as she would have liked to have ripped him to shreds, she instead picked up another piece of toast, looked him in the eye, and did the slowest toast bite she could manage.

She could see his eyes glistening as he nipped the last bits of fruit from the seed.

 _'Don't say anything Sabrina_ ,' she kept repeating to herself, not breaking eye contact with him as he continued his attack on the fruit. 

After what seemed like an age, he placed the seed on the empty plate in front of him and drew his full attention to the young witch who was beadily watching his every move.

Sabrina didn’t _want_ to start the conversation, but she didn’t want him to start it either.

“So, how was your _recent escapade_?” she asked scathingly, pouring herself a glass of cold pear juice.

"Always the pleasure to see you again, darling Sabrina. I always _love_ our reunion chats.” He said, eyes still glistening.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she replied, sipping on her juice. He poured himself a juice and stood up, walking towards the window.

 _‘Always the one for grand gestures,’_ she thought.

“Oh it was the same, and not the same. The European covens are thriving, as are we all. I expected as much since we took over the Vatican. Darling, you should really see St. Peters, it’s truly beautiful.” He said, looking out the window into the lavish gardens that Sabrina and Hilda had been spending a bit of time cultivating.

“Now that there is a new Anti-Pope, a lot of the healing of our kind can finally continue," he finished, taking another swig of juice.

Sabrina placed her glass down on the table silently. 

“I’d like to come one day, but you never invite me."

“Now, why do you think that is, _angelum meum_?” he replied, not turning around but Sabrina could hear the smirk on his voice.

“I don’t know! You never ask me to go anywhere, do anything. I’m forced to sit here in the garden and do nothing despite I’m probably the most powerful witch in the _entire_ world. Maybe that’s it?” she replied hotly.

There is was. She retaliated. She couldn’t help herself. He turned around and laughed.

“You know I don’t ask you because I _know_ you would say no. And you have no obligations to stay here, Sabrina. So don’t act like you’re trapped. After all, you are _the most powerful witch in the entire world,_ so who am I to stop you?” he replied simply, putting his glass back on the table, and promptly leaving the room before Sabrina could retaliate again.

She knew that everything he said was true, and had even _predicted_ that this would be their first conversation together after his absence. And then he won, again. Not even because of something that he did, but just because he knew exactly how to press her.

‘ _He didn’t even have to try very hard at all,'_ she thought.

Sabrina at this point would usually retreat to her bedroom at the other side of the house, and pace anxiously with Salem, trying to work out an adequate comeback. It was the way it always was. _The lovers quarrel_ , is what the inhabitants of their house called it, and they were well used to it by now.

Sabrina used to laugh. _I'm no lover of his_ , she used to say with enough confidence to sink a battleship. 

Now though, she wasn’t sure what they were. What she was to _Him_. Witches and warlocks, no matter their status, were permitted to share their bed with anyone they desired. Monogamy was somewhat frowned upon and not understood to their kind, and at this point Sabrina had lived as a witch for far longer than she ever had as a mortal.  

She rarely did share her bed, and besides, most were so intimidated they wouldn’t dream of approaching her about it. House orgies, she supposed, were fun if they didn’t ask about her magic. Which they always did, so she often spent most of her days alone, studying or playing with Salem or in the gardens. 

She didn’t know, _or care_ , if the Dark Lord shared his bed, who he shared it with, but it had never been with her. He had never asked, and for that she admired him. Whether this was another game within his game, she couldn’t tell, but the fact that in that regard he was respectful to her meant a great deal.

Apart from that _one_ time where she had been forced to be the Queen of Hell, there had been no forcing. Everything was up to her choosing. It seemed maddening that she wasn’t required to live as the slave to him she thought she’d be, but most times it felt like there was nothing tying herself to him.

‘ _Except for the fact that I’m the Queen of fucking Hell,'_  she thought. She unhurriedly sipped the last sip of juice from her glass and stood up, brushing invisible crumbs off her nightgown while standing up.

She padded, barefoot, from the dining room and up the stairs. She stood at the top of the stairs, letting the breeze from the open landing window ruffle her hair. Instead of turning towards the familiar route to her bedroom, she looked in the direction of her monarch’s closed bedroom door and headed towards it, smoothing her slightly windswept hair down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we gooooo!  
> hi I'm back happy 2020.

Sabrina’s hand hesitated on the doorknob that lead into the Dark Lord’s private quarters. She had been in there, of course, when he wasn’t there.

But not when he was in there. Not like right now.

She didn’t know what point exactly she was trying to prove, but she was getting real tired of losing. Hadn’t she proved that she was worthy of more than his sardonic tendencies? Wasn’t she worth more than the occasional accompanied meal and the way he threw carefully worded insults at her, thinking she wouldn’t notice?

Sabrina used to be the type of person to assert dominance in any kind of situation, but for the last couple of decades she had become, perhaps, slightly submissive in her engagements with the Dark Lord, and she didn’t know why.

She had thought for the longest time that she wasn’t scared of him, shouldn’t be scared of him, but maybe she actually was scared.

 _‘I refuse to be his pawn any longer,’_ she thought to herself before taking a deep breath and opening the door to his bedroom.

The door creaked slightly as it slowly swung open to reveal his beautiful bedroom swathed in dark red velvet and dark wood accents. She looked around the room to find him sitting in an armchair by the extravagant wood fireplace, draped in a deep red robe, sipping from a wine glass. He took his time turning around to meet the intruder currently standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Sabrina, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure this evening?” He asked, his face stoic and devoid of any surprise. She had thought that her presence in his room would cause at least some kind of reaction. Guess she was wrong.

“Are you not even surprised to see me, _my Lord_?” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He put down his glass and stood up, drinking in the whole of Sabrina’s beautiful body with his eyes, ignoring her biting tone. 

“ _Alis volat propriis_ ,” he breathed, while soundlessly walking past her to close the door.

Sabrina should have been scared that she was alone with him, in his bedroom, with the door closed.

She was.

He walked past her again, the tiniest touch of his robe brushed her bare arm as he returned back to his chair and his wine.

“ _Audaces fortuna iuvat_ ,” she replied smartly, heartbeat quickening ever so slightly.

Sabrina hadn’t done anything so reckless in almost her whole half century of living. Her aunties would be pissed.

He studied her intently for a moment before his face broke into a grin and he laughed.

“You are bold indeed, my little angel,” he said, still laughing.

“I see your Latin is coming along well.”

“I can barely have you throwing words at me without knowing what they are, so I took the liberty of learning,” she spat.

‘ _Where are you going with this, ‘Brina_?’ She thought. Maybe this moment of recklessness would get her and her family into trouble again after she had tried so – fucking – hard to make sure that wasn’t the case. ' _Wouldn't be the first time.'_  

She moved closer into his bedroom and sat at the corner of his huge four poster bed, as far away from him as she could manage. He looked at her for a long time without saying anything, occasionally taking a sip of wine, waiting to see if she would say anything. She didn’t know what to say, so she sat there awkwardly with her mouth halfway open like a fish.

The silence was almost unbearable.

She wanted to be angry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to do something, anything, to ease these tensions in her mind. What was their relationship? What did she mean to him? Was she really just some pretty little pawn in his overarching world domination goal? Would this be like this forever? But all she could do was just look at him.

 _Could_ she even get any kind of reassurance from him? The Dark Lord? She doubted it.

“Sabrina if yo-“ he started but he was cut off by her standing up and walking the short distance between them. She pulled up her dress slightly to straddle him in the chair, and she leaned in and kissed his soft lips.

At first, he didn’t respond, too taken aback by what was currently happening. She didn’t know if this is what he wanted, but she didn’t give a shit, because it’s what she wanted and if there was anything to be learned from the Dark Lord, it is to _take whatever you want without consequence, because you are a witch._

His body seemed to relax after a moment and he wrapped his arms around her tiny body, deepening the kiss. Her hands gripped his hair, her body grinding up against his. After a moment she pulled away, studying his face for any kind of emotion.

“Darling, I’ve been waiting since the beginning of time for this.”

“Good. You deserve to wait longer for the rest,” she replied and, detangling herself from him and leaving his room, closing the door behind her.

 _‘What the fuck did I just do?_ ’ she thought in a dizzying haze, walking back to her own room in silence.


End file.
